


Saving My Frenemy

by NickelModelTales



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cheerleaders, College, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Frenemies, Germany, Hypnotism, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Sexual Slavery, Shameless Smut, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 06:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17278976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales
Summary: If your worst frenemy was hypnotized into becoming a stripper and sex slave, you’d still risk life and limb to save her… right?





	1. Cheerleading

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves women becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

 

**_Harrisburg, December 1990_ **

The music pounds through the loudspeakers.

I complete my backflip, landing neatly on my feet, exactly on the top of the beat.  Excellent.  In my peripheral vision, Gretchen and Millie have completed their flips, the three of us synch’ed up **_exactly_**.  Before us, Jason and Tyler have spun forward, their arms interlocked, making the cradle.

Everything’s going like clockwork.  Time for the big finale.

Gretchen races forward, using Jason’s bent leg as her launch.  She flies into the air, arms extended, sailing off toward stage left.  Millie is one beat behind her, launching off Tyler, similarly flying to stage right.

My turn.

I suck in my last breath of air, already sprinting at both boys.  I see their arm muscles tense.

I spring forward onto my hands, flipping once, twice, now into the air… coming down into the cradle.  Solid.

Jason and Tyler hoist me straight up…

I tuck in my arms, allowing the physics to take over.  My rigid little body sails up into the air…  five feet… then ten feet up…

For the barest heartbeat, I am suspended above the stage.  The packed audience stares at me in wonder and dread.

I throw out my arms, arching my back.  Now I’m twirling madly in midair…  One rotation… two… three…  I’m plummeting fast now…  Only one chance to land this…

**_NOW!_ **

My feet **_connect_** with the stage just when I am upright.  I allow my knees to properly absorb the shock… and then I stand, my arms thrown heavenward and my expression proud.  Just as the music finishes.

**Perfect.**

There is a gasp.  And then the audience erupts in pandemonium.  Sheer, absolute, unrestrained, unstoppable pandemonium.  The applause and cheers are louder than thunder.  I hear one of the judges screaming, “ ** _Oh my God!  Oh my God!  Oh my God!_** ” over and over.

I have just landed the world’s first Triple Axel, Fully Rotated Basket Toss in competition.  My sisters flanking me have executed perfect symmetrical Double Axels to my left and right, both exact mirrors of the other.  **_Never_** has this been done in the history of our sport.

The crowd screams for us, showering us in glory.  We are now the stuff of legends.

******

The awards ceremony is a cauldron of excitement.  The competition was stiff this year, absolutely killer.  But deep down inside, my teammates and I already know who captured the trophy.

We are the Wendell Hallow Academy Varsity Cheerleading squad, and this is the 1990 Nationals for Competitive Cheerleading.  And you better know that when I say “Cheerleading,” I don’t mean silly girls in short skirts waving pom-poms on the sidelines.  No.  Competitive Cheerleading is a cutthroat version of team gymnastics.  Our squad – eight girls, four boys – work as **_one unit_** , performing a breakneck sequence of flips, spins, jumps, lifts, dances, and flies, all to fast-moving music, all quicker than your eye can follow.

You have **_no idea_** how serious we are.  Our squad – and all the squads we compete against – work tirelessly for five months, training four plus hours a day, working to build our routines.  It is hard work.  You and your squad must think and move as one mind, and there’s no room for egos.  The Squad Comes First.  By the time training is over and we go to Regionals to compete, we are all solid muscle, loaded with springs, pumped with grit and determination.

In the middle of the ceremony hall, I look at my teammates and Coach Scott, all seated at the Wendell Hallow table.  We exchange nervous-but-confident expressions.  The presenters on stage are rambling on about the history and importance of our sport.  I just want the suspense to be over.

As if on cue, the lights dim.

“And now…” Beverly Tucker, our MC (and a legend in the sport) says, “its time to announce the 1990 National Champions for Most Outstanding Squad.  The finalists are…”

I grip the table as the runner-ups are announced.  Fourth place goes to Granger, good choice.  Third is Princeton, not a surprise.  Second is…

I bite my lip.

Second is Carter Phillips.  Which means…

“And the 1990 National Champions are…” Beverly Tucker says, her eyes sweeping the spellbound hall, “…Wendell Hallow Academy for their-“

She never finishes the sentence.  My team rises as one, screaming in triumph, hugging and crying and jumping up and down in sheer disbelief.  The crowd, our admirers and competitors alike, all leap to their feet, applauding madly.  The noise is ear-shattering.

The Wendell Hallow squad storms the stage, seizing the Clarrow Trophy from Beverly Tucker, even before she offers it.  The applause grows louder and more riotous.  Even the other squads on stage are gleefully cheering for us.

Beverly Tucker holds up a single hand.

Everyone falls silent.  The MC has never done this before in the history of Nationals.  What’s going on?

“The judges have instructed me,” Beverly says into her mike, “that the National Federation of Competitive Cheerleading would like to present a Special Distinction Award tonight, the first since 1963.  For executing **_the world’s first Triple Axel, Fully Rotated Basket Toss_** , we present the **_Gracie Miller Award_** … to Toni Lamarco, of Wendell Hallow Academy.”

And Beverly turns and gestures to me.

My jaw falls to the floor.

The awards hall goes bonkers, absolutely bonkers, with wild screams and cheers.  I hear my squad yell and sing, they are so happy.  Jason and Tyler seize me, and hoist me onto their shoulders.  As the Presentation Committee comes from the wings to give me my trophy, I tremble and weep in joy and triumph.

Everywhere I look, I see faces turned towards me, radiant in admiration and delight for me, **_only me!_**   Their applause is so thunderous, I can barely think.  As I wave, tears openly stream down my face.

Wait…  I glance at the Carter Phillips squad.  The runner-ups.  Their captain is a striking blonde girl, beautiful beyond belief.  She’s clapping for me, but her face is completely devoid of any emotion.  She’s jealous.

Well, let her sulk.  Tonight, I am the champion, I am the victor!  The glory of 1990 is mine!  **_Mine!_**   For decades to come, the Triple Axel, Fully Rotated Basket Toss will be known as the “Toni Lamarco,” **_and rightfully so!_**

I accept my award, hoisting it high above my head.

Oh, this rocks.  And this is only my sophomore year!  Just think, in two years, I’ll be a senior and captain of the Wendell Hallow squad.  Just think how we’ll rock Nationals then!

******

**_Upstate New York, August 1991_ **

I arrive at Wendell Hallow’s campus nearly a month before classes start, because Cheerleading tryouts are this week.  I’m assured a spot on the squad, of course.  No girl wins the fucking Gracie Miller Award and ever has to worry about auditions ever again.  But Coach Scott is a stickler for tradition.

After the veterans go and are selected, I’m made head of the Audition Committee.  This probably means I’ll be co-captain this year.  Audrey is captain, as it is her senior year.  That’s only right.

So I organize the auditions for new girls, and we start screening the talent.  Of course, we’re aware that the pressure at Nationals will be even greater this year, so our little committee is searching for nothing short of greatness.  A lot of girls go away in tears.

Towards the end of Auditions, I hear Audrey click her tongue in appreciation.  “Next up…” she announces, “is one Kim Kesselring.”

Kim Kesselring?  I’ve never heard of her.

“Here,” Audrey says, handing me Kim’s audition form.

I’m impressed.  Kim is a transfer student, to be a junior like me.  She’s won numerous gymnastic, dance, and karate competitions, plus two beauty pageants.  She’s also an award-winning student, recipient of the Such-and-Such scholarship.

“Man,” I exclaim.  “This chick has been winning awards all her life.  She probably won Most Prestigious Birth the day she popped out of her momma’s womb.”

“You’ll like her,” Audrey tells me.  “We’re lucky she transferred here.”

The door opens, and in walks an absolutely breathtaking blonde girl.  Her eyes are deep blue, her cheekbones are high and delicate, and her skin could not be more perfect.  Its like she’s made from living porcelain.  This girl’s platinum blonde locks cascade down her head like a waterfall of gold.  I catch myself gaping at her Helen-of-Troy-like beauty.

The girl is dressed in a leotard, ballet shoes, and a tight-fitting sweatshirt.  Not exactly what we cheerleaders wear to practice, but I guess it will do.  For auditions, anyway.

Our eyes meet.

Wait!  I know this chick!

My mind flashes back to last year’s Nationals.  Yes!  Kim was the captain of the Carter Phillips squad!  I remember her dour expression while I was receiving the Gracie Miller.  She was the one bitch in the awards hall who wasn’t happy for me.

“Hi, I’m Kim Kesselring,” the blonde stunner says to us.  Her tone is detached, as if she really doesn’t care what we think.  Her first big mistake.

“Hold on,” I say, my brow furrowing.  I rescan Kim’s audition form.  “Wait.  Last year, you were **_captain_** of the Carter Phillips squad?  And this year, you’re to be a **_junior?_** ”

“That’s right,” Kim nods.

I gape at her.  “You’re telling me… you were captain of a Nationals squad **_in your sophomore year?_** ” I exclaim.

Kim nods again.  “Yep.”

“Impressive,” Audrey mutters appreciably.

Our latest auditionee gestures to Becky, who is manning the CD player.  Becky presses PLAY, and Kim begins her one-woman routine.

And…

Man, I’ve gotta admit it.  The girl can **_move_**.  She has perfect timing, landing her steps and jumps exactly on the beat.  Good form, too.  She has the fundamentals down cold.

My eyes narrow as I evaluate.  This Kim… she’s not only a great acrobat, she’s…  I can’t put my finger on it.  Wait, I know.  She’s **_sexy_**.

Yes, that’s it.  Look how she moves her hips and shoulders.  As her perfect, long legs flash, her tight little butt wiggles in a hypnotic motion.  She has round, but muscle-packed curves.  And as she leaps and lands, I can’t help but notice her big, round tits bounce up and down.  Jeez, she’s better endowed and bouncier than Princess Jasmine.

I cross my arms, a frown growing on my face.  All that blonde hair, that perfect, doll-like face, the Barbie figure…  I don’t like this at all.  Competitive cheerleading is about the muscle skill, the coordination, the discipline.  We’re not sex objects.  We don’t get up to dance for men to stare at our boobs and asses.

Kim finishes with a quadruple handflip, doing a full three-sixty midair before a textbook three-point landing.  Audrey and the rest of the committee automatically applaud.

******

Over pizza, I lead my committee through the audition results.  I make a winning case for Kelly and Nadine.  One spot left.

“Oh, I think we all know who gets **_that_** ,” Audrey says.  The other girls nod.

They mean that Kim Kesselring chick.  I purse my lips.

“I’m not sure she’s right for the squad,” I object.  “She’s too, you know, stripper-like.  All breasts and butt.  But Mina, she-“

“What, are you crazy?” Audrey stares at me.  “Kim should be our first round draft pick.  She’s a star.”

“Yeah,” Becky agrees.

“I’m audition committee chair,” I say firmly.  “And I say no.”

“Yeah, well, we all vote on squad selection,” Audrey retorts.  “All in favor of Kim?”

Every hand but mine goes up.

******

Two months into practice, and our routines are taking shape.  This is the part of the process I like best, when the squad is tossing around ideas and trying to figure out what we can pull off, and what is out of our reach.  Regionals and Nationals are won right here, as the squad jells and we test our limits.

“We’ve got all eyes on us this year,” Captain Audrey reminds us.  “ ** _Everyone_** is gonna finale with a Triple Axel now.  So we’ve got to be on the next level.”

She’s right.  We need to up our game.  This could be the year Wendell Hallow goes legendary.  My future daughters could someday be whispering about the greatness that was forged right here.  I feel the pressure.

The good news is, our early routines look promising.  We’ve got a solid foundation and I like our music selections.  We just need to fold in the spectacular moves, to put a little sizzle on the steak.  Of course, **_that_** is the hard part.

“I’ve got it, you guys,” I say suddenly, as we are in the middle of walking through our middle section.  “What if Jason and Bradley hoist me up here and while Becky is doing the double lunge, I’m here in a double flip?”

That’s a solid idea.  Gretchen and Madeline are nodding.

“No,” Kim interjects.  She steps forward, sipping her water.  “We’ve only got four bars of music to get to next position.  That wastes too much time.”

I glare at Kim, annoyed.  Is it my imagination, or is this chick overriding all my ideas?

“You’re upstage after the second pyramid, right?” Kim asks me.  “So you’re too far away to reach Jason.  But what if I did a pirouette jump off Jason’s back while crossing to next position.  That would work.”

Audrey screws up her nose.  “Pirouette jump?  Isn’t that-“

“No,” interrupts Kim, “it’ll totally work.  Watch.”

She snaps her fingers, and Jason obediently jumps into position.  Kim takes two steps back.

As usual, Kim is wearing her skintight leotards and a form-fitting sweatshirt.  Those leotards drive me nuts.  They hug her body like a second skin.  I swear, its like Kim stripped nude and then someone painted her bright red from her teeny waist down to her ankles.  The leotard even hugs into her shapely butt crack.  Its getting really hard to make sure the guys are concentrating on the moves.

At least the girl is wearing proper sneakers.

I don’t like Kim.  I don’t like her at all.  This chick is bossy, always interrupting when I have an idea.  And her ideas are usually good, Goddamnit.  She rarely smiles, never swaps jokes, hardly ever acknowledges me unless she absolutely has to.  I’ve known her for a few weeks now, and the Ice Queen treats me like I barely exist.  **_I’m the squad co-captain, for fuck’s sake!!!_**

“Now give me the count,” Kim orders.  Becky begins snapping in time.

Kim sets herself, then leaps at the crouching Jason.  She plants her foot, launches, and her body spins in midair.  Jason instinctively supports her as she lifts and flies across the rehearsal floor.  Another quick spin, and Kim has landed like an eagle.

“See?” Kim says, not even out of breath.  “Now I’m in place for the next lift.  Perfect.”

“Yeah!” Audrey cries, her eyes shining.

But this means I’m still in the back.  I simmer.

******

**_Harrisburg, December 1991_ **

This is it.  The moment of truth…

Her voice heavy with suspense, Beverly Tucker announces, “And the 1991 National Champions are…” …pause for effect… “…the Wendell Hallow Academy squad for -“

The crowd goes bananas, screaming and applauding like everyone here has just won the Super Bowl.  My squad leaps to their feet and rushes the stage.

Glowing with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen, Beverly hands the 1991 Clarrow Trophy to Audrey.  Our captain, who is possibly wetting herself, jumps up and down, and then hands the trophy to Kim.

Wait a fucking second… to **_Kim???_**   I’m the co-captain!!!

******

**_Coastal Maine, late July 1992_ **

I sit by the kitchen phone, biting my nails.  What is taking so long?!?

Then, the phone rings.  “ ** _I got it!!!_** ” I scream before my idiot brother or parents can react, and then I scoop up the receiver.

“ _Toni?_ ” I hear Becky’s voice on the other end.  She sounds somber.

Oh God.

“ _We tallied the votes,_ ” Becky tells me.  “ _Kim is elected captain.  You’re co-captain._ ”

I feel my face burn bright red.  **_Fuck, no!!!_**   This is **_MY_** senior year!  How could my sisters…?

“ _…Toni?_ ” I hear Becky say.  She sounds distant.

“Yeah?” I reply, fighting tears of anger and humiliation.

“ _You okay?_ ”

“I’m fine,” I say curtly.  A pause.  “Was the vote close?”

“ _Um…_ ” Becky hedges.

I hang up in rage.

******

**_Upstate New York, January 1993_ **

Of course, Wendell Hallow absolutely **_crushes_** the competition at the 1992 Nationals.  Not only do we feature **_three_** Triple Axel Basket Tosses, but we finale with a new move, the **_Quadruple_** Axel Basket Toss.  Its only possible because Tyler and Bradley can toss Kim fifteen feet above the stage.

Back at school, our trophy case is hastily re-arranged to squeeze in the new Clarrow.  Now we have 1990, 1991, and 1992.  And there I am… listed as co-captain for two of the three years.

I’m the only girl in Wendell Hallow history to serve as co-captain twice, but never to make captain.

Whatever.  I’m done with cheerleading.

You know what?  I’m done with **_high school_**.  I’m done with this stupid campus, with the usual cliques, the same old Friday night parties and trying to snag the boys from Grangewood Academy.  I’m done with it all.

Next year, I’ll be in college, and I’m aiming for nothing less than Harvard itself.  I have a good shot.  Wendell Hallow is a renown school, my marks are excellent, and I have the Gracie Miller Award.  Maybe if I explain how prestigious that is in my application essay, that will be enough…?

And once I’m at Harvard?  My trajectory is the business school, which is the best in the world.  I’m aiming to be nothing less than the world’s first female CEO of a Blue Chip company before forty.  Before thirty-five, perhaps.

So I work my butt off.  I tear through the SATs like a scythe cutting through wheat.  I rock the AP exams like no-one’s business.  I hound my professors, making sure my 3.8 GPA is secure.  I do everything I can to make sure I leave Wendell Hallow in the biggest blaze of academic glory this sad little school has ever seen.

******


	2. Harvard and Hamburg

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves women becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

 

**_Cambridge Massachusetts, late August 1994_ **

Holy shit.  Harvard is **_beautiful_** , even better than I remember on my campus tour.  The buildings here look like a cross between boarding houses and fairy-tale castles.  I’ve never seen so much ivy.  Everyone here is attractive and wears the latest J Crew.

With all the other incoming freshman, I am herded through the orientation activities, including library tours, lectures on academic integrity, meetings with advisors, scrambles for class registration.  There are also the “fun” activities, including a barbeque, an obstacle course race, movie nights, a sing-off, and a stage hypnotism show.  I’ve never understood why anyone would **_want_** to get hypnotized.

Outside of what the university sponsors, there’s also the underground events.  I manage to get invited to the Dapper Drinker, which is a strictly hush-hush kegger hosted by the Chemistry upperclassmen.  I squeeze my way into the door, and find myself among, like, a hundred other people here.  They are drinking beer from clear plastic glasses, laughing merrily, swapping crude jokes, and generally getting loud.

Man, I don’t know anyone here.  I’m also the shortest person by at least six inches.

Mustering my courage, I thread my way through the throngs of people, smelling the different kinds of smoke wafting up from the cigarettes.  Guys glance at me, but none looks for more than a second.  That’s okay.  I’m not hoping for a hook-up.  I just want to mingle.

Over by the windows are a group of freshmen women, arguing politics.  I could go there.  There’s also a game of poker breaking out in the next room.  I’m a ringer; if they deal me in, I could take the room.  That could be fun.  Where to go…

A sudden spasm of pain in my foot interrupts my thoughts.  Some clod has stepped on my foot!

“ ** _Jesus!_** ” I snarl, jumping back.

“Oh my God!” the guy cries, looking aghast.  “I’m, like, so sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

I peer in the dim light at this fellow.  He’s cute… **_really_** cute.  Short like me, with neat hair, a darling little cleft in his chin, and… sigh… **_gorgeous_** eyes, this guy definitely is the looker.

I hesitate.  Suddenly I’m not so angry.

“You okay?” the guy asks, genuinely concerned.

“I’m good,” I smile, then remind myself to play a little hard-to-get.  “I mean… you’re lucky you didn’t trigger my ninja reflexes.”

The guy half-laughs.  “You don’t have a drink,” he observes.  “Com’on, I know the barkeep.”

As Prince Charming leads me through the party, I can’t help but glance at his cute ass.  Nice.  I’m a dirty girl, I know it.

The “bar” is a folding table with four silver kegs, all opened.  My guy speaks quickly to the grubby-looking fellow manning the taps, and soon I have a frothy cup in my hand.

“Seriously, you’re okay?” the guy asks, drawing close.

“Please,” I tease him.  “I’m fine.  I’m tough.”

“Okay,” he says, visibly relaxing.  “Do you know I’ve bumped into two pre-laws, and **_both_** of them immediately threatened to sue for battery?”

I blink.  “Jesus.”

“I’m Drake,” says the boy, offering his hand.

I grin.  “Toni,” I say.

Drake’s grip is firm and his hands are soft.  I like his cologne.

“So,” I say, trying my beer, “how did you get into Harvard?”

Drake steps a little closer as a huge football player elbows up to the bar behind us.  “Oh,” he shrugs.  “I wrote two novels.”

Wow.  “Novel ** _s_**?” I echo, stressing the plural.

“Yeah,” admits Drake.  “One was an examination on the working conditions of Cambodian pleasure women right after the Nixon administration bombed their villages.  The other… aw, I don’t want to brag.”

“That sounds **_awesome_** ,” I say, and I mean it.

“It was fun,” Drake says casually.  “But I really want to do the Business School here.  That’s where the money is.”

Jesus, he’s handsome, artistic, sensitive, concerned about gender issues, **_and Pre-Biz?_**   I try to ignore the chiming wedding bells in my head.

“You’re Pre-Business?” I exclaim.  “No way, I’m-“

“Excuse me,” a female voice says, and a delicate hand appears on Drake’s arm.  Someone else is trying to reach the bar.

Drake turns, and I see who the woman is.  Its Kim Kesselring.

I stare in disbelief.

**_KIM FUCKING KESSELRING!!!  What… the… fuck?!?!?_ **

“Well, hello,” Drake smiles.

“Hi there,” beams Kim.

Jesus, she looks even **_more gorgeous_** than **_last_** year!  That platinum blonde hair is even longer, with more bounce and curls.  Kim’s wearing a simple pink top, one that hugs her ample chest but tapers off just before her designer jeans.  Her makeup must have been applied by a pro.  I’m dumbstruck.

“ ** _Kim?!?_** ” I blurt out, unable to contain myself.

“Oh,” Kim says to me, as if we are bumping into one another at the grocery store.  “Hey, Toni.”

Swallowing my anger, I demand, “Kim, **_you_** got into Harvard?”

“I’m legacy,” replies Kim.  “Dad did graduate work here.  And my Uncle Henry teaches in the Anthropology Department.”

“You girls know each other?” Drake asks, surprised.

“Oh, sure,” says Kim, batting her lashes at Drake.  “We went to Wendell Hallow together.”

“Where I won the Gracie Miller Award for-“ I try to interject.

“I’m Kim,” my rival purrs, offering Drake her hand.  “Kim Kesselring.”

The boy accepts her hand, his eyes never leaving Kim’s face.  “Yes, I’m-“

“You’re Drake DiSantos,” Kim supplies.  “Author of Her Mother’s Champion and The Quiet Tyranny.  Both were excellent, just excellent.  You have such a unique voice.”

“I…” Drake stammers, mesmerized.  “I, er… yeah.  Thank you.”

I glower at Kim, who is obviously ignoring me now.  She and Drake begin chatting and laughing, and I am on the outside looking in.

Seriously, did I, like, sleepwalk one night, get into my car, and run a busload of nuns and orphans off the road and over a cliff or something?  Because I swear karma’s determined to punish me big time.

******

**_Cambridge Massachusetts, January 1995_ **

It is the second week of Introductory Analysis of International Corporations, or IntCorp 101, for short.  I am sitting in Gund 107, an enormous lecture hall stuffed with over two hundred Pre-Biz majors.  Class is about to start.  The fat guy next to me picking his nose has **_definitely_** not showered today.

Although they are three rows back to my left, I can hear Kim and Drake, giggling together.  Those two have been dating **_seriously_** since last semester, and I’m sick of seeing them make out in my dorm’s common areas.  I get that neither of them has a single room, but do they **_really_** have to snog in public so much?  I’ve seen those two smooch more than my parents ever kissed.  Its really disgusting.

Of course Kim is also Pre-Business.  **_Of course she is._**   She’s eating my life, you know.  She’s in most of my classes, always successfully arguing with the professors, always breaking the grading curve, always landing in the hot study groups.  I hate her.  Even though I have the higher GPA, I hate her so much, so goddamn much, I swear if she does **_one more thing to piss me off_** , I’m investing in rat poison and then its no more Kim Kesselring.  Once the bitch is dead, all evil in the world will die, little children from all races will join hands and sing in peace and harmony, and the Earth will-

“Let’s get started,” Professor Conover rasps from the front of the classroom.  He glances through his notes, waiting for conversations to die off.

“Before we discuss Adam Smith in preparation for next week’s quiz,” the prof says, “I want to encourage all of you to consider applying for the Kronshagen Program this summer.  Its quite a unique opportunity, especially for freshmen students.”

The professor explains.  It seems the So-and-So Corporation in Hamburg, Germany, is renovating their production facilities, and in conjunction with Harvard Business, they are opening up their doors for student participation.  They get a lot of egghead work from us students, for cheap.

“This will be an excellent credential for any of you going into advanced business administration,” the professor comments, already turning to his lecture notes.

I’m on board.  Oh, I’m so going on this summer program.  I already know German, after all.  Its directly on my trajectory for a management job in a transatlantic corporation.  In fact-

“Yes, miss?” the professor asks, calling on someone in the class.

“Professor, will this program include direct observation of business plan implementation?” Kim Kesselring asks loudly.

Fuck!  Kim wants to go too?  **_Goddamnit!!!_**

******

**_Hamburg Germany, June 1995_ **

We Harvard students disembark from Lufthansa Flight 2931, a grumpy and disheveled bunch.  After much confusion and bickering, we gather our luggage and are soon on the tour bus, heading towards the hotel.

Of course, most of us have never been to Germany and are quite culturally ignorant about our host country.  I’m sitting in front of two girls who are actually having this conversation:

Girl 1:  “Hey, its true about German men and sex, right?”

Girl 2:  “What?”

Girl 1:  “That they act all tough and macho.  But **_secretly_** they just want an American bitch in black leather to whip their butts while they plead, “ _Yes, Mistress, may I have another?_ ”

Girl 2:  >snort!<

 ** _Real nice,_** ladies.  You two are a credit to American women everywhere.

I hear a high-pitched giggle from the back of the bus.  **_Kim!_**   She and stupid Drake are back there, necking like teens.  Drake is probably tickling her nipples, or some sick shit.

I grit my teeth.  Do those two **_really_** have to be so fucking lovey-dovey all the fucking time?

******

We students and professors are herded into the East Hotel Hamburg, which isn’t as nice as it looked on the brochure.  Students are assigned three to a room, and thankfully, I am with Emily and Latoya.  Emily snores and farts in her sleep, but Latoya is fun.  She knows all kinds of silly drinking games.

The program coordinators insist that **_everyone_** , even seasoned professors, attend the orientation sessions.  This is a string of lectures about Hamburg history, the neighborhoods, German business practices and politics, even what foods we should avoid while our stomachs get used to the local cuisine.  I’ve been to Berlin and Dusseldorf before, so a lot of this is boring to me.

At the end, the head coordinator is about to finish when she remembers one last item.  “Oh…” she says, and her face becomes deathly serious.  “Have any of you heard of the Hamburg Red Light District?”

There is silence from the audience.

“The Red Light District,” the coordinator says sternly, “is the sex district of Hamburg.”  She makes pointed eye contact with us, one-by-one.  “Many American tourists think it must be a fun and sexy place to visit, no?  But I am telling you:  **_Do not go there._**   It is absolutely not for out-of-towners.”

“That’s right!” Professor Klamp exclaims, quickly jumping to his feet.  “Every year, students are lured to go in by, ah, underworld characters.  Don’t go.  Just do not do it.”

Red Light District, huh?  I’ve never heard of it.

******

Like everything connected to Harvard, the Kronshagen Program means a backbreaking amount of work.  We students are all given reading assignments, with summaries and analysis due before the end of the week.  On top of that, we are bussed to factories and then office buildings, where we observe meetings, planning sessions, union rituals, and executive presentations.  I am fluent in German, and I am having a hard time keeping up.

After five weeks, I’m exhausted.  My brain hurts, my fingers are cramped from writing, and I can’t look at one more org chart or else I’ll barf.  I know completing this program will be worth it in the long run… but man, I’d give anything to be back in my parents’ house, just watching TV and eating chips right now.

If I have any consolation, its that Kim and Drake are suffering even more than I am.  Despite their brilliant minds, they just don’t get how the Germans think, and their work is visibly inferior.  I gloat when Kim is berated for blowing a critical analysis at a key juncture.

Worse, Kim and Drake can’t find a room alone, so they are climbing the walls, desperate to hump one another.  I haven’t any pity for them.  Awww, poor Kimmie and Dwakie can’t be all awone?  Poor widdle babies.

******

Its our second-to-last night in Hamburg.  I’ve turned in my final papers, so for once, there’s nothing for me to do.  Surprised at my unexpected freedom, I wander the hotel.  It seems I’m the only student with time on her hands.

How about that?  I finally get a break.

Not knowing what else to do, I wander down to the hotel lobby, and then into the lounge.  I really shouldn’t be served here, but the woman behind the bar doesn’t bat an eye when I ask for a local beer.  Tastes good.

I look about.  There’s a few older businessmen, locked in an argument about… soccer.  Boring.  There’s a few more men in suits, sitting about, reading the papers.  No women here.  The music is some weird Seventies tune I’ve never heard before.

Wait a minute…  On the other end of the bar, is a young guy.  He’s… hmm, late twenties?  Maybe thirty?  He’s checking me out.  Even now, as I make eye contact, he grins at me.

Well, well, well.  He’s cute.  Not Drake Cute, but easy on the eye nonetheless.  Good build, black hair, sexy stubble, lean face, nice hazel eyes.  I’m a sucker for nice eyes, you know.  He’s in a casual suit, with gray slacks and strange, Italian boots.  You’d think this outfit would look ridiculous, but the guy pulls it off.

As we regard each other, the guy grins again.  Nice teeth.

He picks up his ale and approaches.

 ** _Oh God_** , what do I look like?  I’m still in Overworked Student Mode; that means I tumbled out of bed this morning and just threw on whatever wasn’t in the laundry hamper.  I haven’t looked in a mirror all day.  I’m wearing jean shorts and an oversized, ratty Harvard sweatshirt with the collar ripped out.  My hair is crudely pinned up, and I have **_no_** makeup.  None.  I’m not wearing socks under my gray canvas shoes; my feet must stink by now.

“Hello, _Fräulein_ ,” the man says in perfect German.  He pulls the next barstool close to me and sits down.

“Hi,” I offer, trying to slyly fix my hair with one hand.  Did I shower today?  I can’t remember.

“Ah, you are American,” exclaims the man, then switches to accented English.  “I wondered if you were Italian.”

I’m grateful that he’s using my native tongue; my brain is still in a sling.  “Well, my ancestors are from Italy,” I allow.  “I’m-“

“ _Zut!_ ” the man says quickly, putting a finger over my lips.  “No, no, let’s not introduce ourselves.  Let’s play a game, eh?”

A game?  What is this, some weirdo German way of hitting on schlumply American college girls?  If so… I have to admit, I’m kinda charmed.

This guy is handsome.  I like that he leans in to talk with me.

“What kind of game?” I ask softly.

“You tell me a name, but not your real name,” the man says.  “And I will do the same.  And we will see if we like each other’s fake names.  What do you think?”

Kinky.  Okay, I’m game.

“I’m… Kim,” I say, batting my eyes a little.  Just like the real Princess of Darkness would.

“Ah, Kim,” the man nods.  “I am Claus.”

Claus, huh?  That works.

“You are here on business, Claus?” I purr, pretending that I look like Marilyn Monroe.  I allow the man to touch my hand.  This is fun.

“ _Zut!_ ” Claus reprimands me again.  “Let us only tell lies, eh?  I am here… as an actor.  I am researching a new role.”

“Do tell,” I say.

“Oh, it is a meaty role,” Claus assures me, taking my hand in his.  “One of daring and excitement.  And you?”

I let my mind go blank for a second.  “I am… a prostitute,” I say coyly, pretending to be uninterested in Claus.  “I am very high-priced, you understand.  You, being a poor actor, probably couldn’t afford me.”

 ** _Where is this bullcrap coming from?_**   I can’t believe the shit pouring from my mouth.

God, is this fun.  I want to kiss Claus so badly.

“Oh, I am a **_famous_** actor,” the German man promises.  “Money is no object to me.”  He draws even closer.  Now I can detect his musk.  “How much is it to lick your pussy?”

Whoa – did I hear that right?

I feel myself blush.  I should really find an excuse, any excuse, to slip away.  And pronto.  But…

Jesus, when was the last time I got laid?  Seriously?  Oh my God, that would be… **_Billy Campbell_** , the summer **_before_** Harvard.  Over a year ago!

I lick my lips, just a bit.  I’m horny.  Its been a long time.  And I can handle this guy.  I’m not a babe in woods, after all.  I know Germany pretty well.

“My pussy?” I murmur, slipping back into character.  I put my other hand on his knee.  “Oh, a lady never discusses money, sir.  You should know that.”

Claus grins, his eyes half-closed now.  His face is close, so close.

“ _I want to lick your pussy_ ,” he whispers, intensely.  “You excite me.  Do I excite you?”

Man, we’re going so fast here.  I’m probably making a mistake, but…

“Anything is possible, Claus,” I say in a breathy voice.  “But I have to ask you something.”

“Only lies, remember?”

“No, for real,” I say, dropping the seductress act a little.  “You aren’t one of those German men who wants to be a slave for a domineering American bitch, are you?  You don’t want me to whip your ass while you say, ‘ _Yes Mistress, may I have another?_ ’”

Claus chuckles, shaking his head in amusement.  “ _Gott im Himmel_ ,” he exclaims.  “Why would I want that?”

Exactly what I wanted to hear.  I switch back into Sex Goddess, half-closing my eyelids and leaning even closer to his waiting lips.  “Take me to your room,” I tell him softly.

Claus’ face falls, slightly.  “Uh,” he mumbles.  “Well, I can’t.”

“You can’t?” I repeat.  “What… your wife is up there?”

“ _Scheisse!_ ” the German exclaims, breaking character.  “What?  No!  No, I’m not married.  My business partner in sharing my room.  He has stomach illness now.”

Ah.  Well, that’s a downer.

“But you know, Kim,” Claus says, turning the charm back on.  “There’s another place we can go.”

******

I allow Claus to take my by the hand.  We then stroll out of the hotel and across the city, heading west.  I look like a frumpy homeless woman, but, ah, he treats me like a princess.  As we talk, I grow more and more enchanted by his affections.  And I want to jump his bones.

We round a street corner.  “ _Ja!_  Here we are,” Claus tells me.

I stop, staring is amazement.  The street before us is lined with dim… shops, I guess, all decked out in gaudy neon.  It is nighttime now, and the hundreds of fluorescents blaze with a cheap majesty.  I see the German words for “Girls!”, “Dancers!”, “Live Show!”, and “Come in!”

Some of the building have – I’m not kidding, now – large metal cages, and there are barely-clothed women gyrating away inside them.  I see a lot of naked, floppy breasts.  Sleazy men holding brochures stand outside, yelling at the tourists, trying to coax them into these establishments.

My mouth is wide open.  “This… this is the Red Light District,” I say, and reflexively clutch Claus’ arm.

“Yah,” my, er, date grins.

Claus sees the alarm in my eyes.  “Oh,” he says, realizing this is all a little much for me.  “Sorry, I should have told you.”

I know I sound lame, but dropping the Kim the Prostitute role, I exclaim, “I was told to never, ever go in there.”

“Oh,” Claus rolls his eyes.  “Yes, they always say that to the tourists.  Especially the **_American_** tourists.  Americans are so uptight when it comes to sex, they always… how you say… _freak out_ when they see the exposed women breasts.  Last year, a college student claimed she was pickpocketed here, and it was a minor scandal.”

“Look,” says Claus, pulling at my hand, “Hamburg Red Light District is much, much safer than New York Times Square.  In Hamburg, worst is someone might trick you to showing off your breasts.  In New York, worst is you get stabbed.  Right?”

I feel silly.  He’s right.  Why did I fall for that doom-and-gloom speech from that prissy program coordinator at our hotel?  I’m streetsmart.  And I know German.  I’ll be fine.

Besides… I know I’m playing with fire, here… but I like this feeling of fake danger I’m getting right now.  Who says Toni Lamarco can’t walk on the wild side?

“I want to bring you here,” Claus says, drawing me into his arms, “because here, you can rent rooms.  By the hour.”  He grins… and kisses me.

I like it.  In fact, I’m getting aroused.

“You haven’t paid me yet,” I naughtily say, becoming Kim the Prostitute once more.

We kiss again.  Deeper, this time.  I like how Claus’ stubble rakes across my skin.

“Com’on,” the German whispers, giving me those sexy bedroom eyes.  He takes my hand.

******

Soon we are standing outside the Decadent Oyster, a strip club where nude women dance for you in the windows.  I watch them, fascinated at their distracted faces and curvy-but-natural bodies.  Most of the sex workers I’ve seen here are skinny with fake breasts, or lumpy with saddlebag breasts.  The Decadent Oyster ladies are genuine sexy bitches.

Claus is haggling with a short man for a room, in the place next door.  Apparently they first ask for a hundred marks upfront, but you can browbeat them down to twenty.  I patiently wait for my date to secure the lodging.  I hope they wash the sheets before we go in.

This is like, the craziest, most daring thing I’ve ever done.  Jesus!  A little over a year ago, I was this prissy little high school girl from Maine, who’d never so much as look down a back alley.  Now look at me!  I’m standing in the middle of one the world’s sleaziest meat markets, determined to have filthy sex with a handsome stranger.  In a perverse way, I’m proud of myself.

“Hey!” I hear a man cry.  “Hey, lady!”

I turn.

An **_incredibly_** thin man with a black pencil moustache is hurrying up to me.  He is probably Claus’ age, maybe younger, dressed all in black.  His black turtleneck looks like a second skin; he’s terribly scrawny and he really should hit the gym more.

“Lady!” he says to me in accented English.  “Lady, you like my club, yah?”

He gestures to the Decadent Oyster.

“Oh yeah,” I say, cocking one eyebrow.  “Its **_charming_**.  I’m thinking of bringing the family with me next time.”

The man gestures to my body.  “You want to dance here?  You make a lot of money, yah.”

“No,” I say quickly.  “No, I don’t dance.”

“Relax, relax,” Turtleneck says.  “We can be friends, yah?  I am Dieter.”

“Good to meet you, Dieter,” I reply.  “I am leaving.”

“No, no,” Dieter says quickly, stepping closer.  “You should look and listen, yah?  Look and listen, it could be worth five hundred.”

“Five hundred?” I say.  “…marks?”

“Five hundred,” he repeats, peering at me.  “Look and listen.”

Why is he snapping his fingers?  Dieter’s arms twitch, like a marionette not quite under the puppeteer’s control.

“Five hundred marks?” I ask again.

“Marks,” Dieter says.  “Also dollars.”

“Dollars?”

“Marks.  Look and listen.”

Snap, snap, **_snap!_**

“But,” I say, confused.

“Dollars and marks.  Five dollars, hundred marks, look and listen.”

Dieter is talking like a machine gun now, snapping all the time.  Staring at him, I can barely keep up.  Its strangely hard to think.

Dieter:  “Look and listen five hundred marks _look hundred and dollars and lift and listen and follow look and marks and listen and hundred dance make and money and…_ ”

“ ** _Hey!_** ” I hear Claus shout.

I’m jostled, and the world seems to pop all of a sudden.

…what the… **_FUCK???_**

I’m standing before Dieter, holding my sweatshirt in my hands.  I’m completely topless, as I didn’t put on a bra this morning.  Dieter has his hands on my chest, and his thumbs are playing with my nipples.  Which are now erect.  A crowd of tourists are standing about us, gawking and pointing and giggling amongst themselves.

I yelp in dismay and horror.  Then I quickly throw my arms over my tiny little A Cups to cover up.

“ ** _Get out of here!_** ” Claus roars at Dieter, who scampers into the Decadent Oyster.

My cheeks redder than a rose, I hurriedly put on my sweatshirt.

“Oh my God,” Claus cries, beside himself.  “I am so, so sorry.  Are you alright?”

“What the fuck happened?” I say, my thoughts still somewhat jumbled.

Claus shakes his head.  “You were hypnotized.  That club man put a spell on you, and you disrobed for him.”

“I… **_what?_** ” I say.

The last thing I remember is… looking into Dieter’s eyes and becoming hopelessly confused.  But now that my thoughts are reorganizing themselves…

…I clearly remember Dieter telling me, “… _listen five hundred marks_ You will take off your shirt _look hundred and dollars and_ …”  And I **_did_** take off my sweatshirt, without even thinking about it.  Meanwhile Dieter said, “ _lift and listen and follow_ I will play with your breasts _look and marks and listen and…_ ”

Oh my God.

“Oh my **_God!_** ” I exclaim, disgusted.

“I am so sorry,” Claus says, searching my face.  “This is my fault.  I forgot that sometimes the club people, they are very sneaky.  They do that to the local girls, and here, it is not… how you say… not big deal.  But he should not have-“

I’m touched by Claus’ concern.  And while Dieter will get a swift kick in the nuts if I see him again, I guess there was no harm done.  In America, this would be a huge deal.  In Europe, not so much.  Even the tourists seems to have forgotten the whole thing.

I smile, feeling better.  “Aw, forget it.”

Claus cocks his head to one side.  “You sure?”

“Forget it,” I say, more firmly this time.  “Look, I’ve got maybe an hour before people notice I’m missing.  What are we doing?”

******


	3. Red Light

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves women becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

 

The room is tiny, barely lit, and the bed is a saggy old cot that probably predates the Hamburg bombing.  But the sheets are white and clean.  It’ll do.

Claus and I kiss, just kiss, for what feels like forever.  I allow myself to melt against his body, and I realize how long its been, how **_freaking long_** its been since a guy has really kissed me before.  Even Bill Campbell didn’t bother to put in this much foreplay.

I hear myself moaning.  My vagina is lubed up.  Its time.

I step back, once again drawing my sweatshirt over my head.  Then, keeping my eyes locked on Claus, I open my fly and push down my jeans and underwear.  (Thank God I’m wearing underwear!)  After I step out of my canvas shoes, I’m in the buff.

I should feel exposed and ashamed, standing here completely naked before this guy I met only an hour or so ago.  In this seedy little room.  Somewhere in the heart of Europe.  Jesus, my parents would be mortified at me.

But, strangely, I feel liberated. I may be nude, but Claus looks at me in wonder and deference.  I am in command here.

“I want to lick your pussy,” Claus growls, his voice full of longing.

Making him wait, I slowly sit on the bed, placing my arms behind me so I can lean back.  Then, taking my time even more, I reposition my left leg out to the left.  And then the right leg out to the right.  I tilt my hips up slightly.

There we are.  Now my vagina is staring straight at Claus.

He stares back, and can look at nothing else.  Amused, I watch as he slowly kneels before me, putting his hands on my inner thighs.  He approaches me with an almost religious fervor, as if coming to worship before the Vagina Goddess between my legs.

Well, I think all men should pay homage to the pussy every now and then.  But that’s just me.

Claus takes his time.  He pushes his nose against my lips, inhaling deeply.  I watch him silently, saying nothing.

The German flicks those hazel eyes up at me one last time, then closes them.  His lips extend forward and caress my nether region.  I feel a rush of delight, and have to breathe deeply for a second.  Its getting harder to hold still.

Claus’ tongue goes to work.  He wasn’t kidding; he wants to lick my pussy.  Like, **_literally_** put his face deep in my crotch and lick my pussy like its pussy ice cream.  I emit a tiny cry of happiness as my veejay starts to light up.  Oh, yeah.  That’s nice.

Of course, now I’m realizing that I haven’t shaved in, er, well, a while.  And my pubes aren’t the softest.  But, in my defense, I had no idea I was going to get eaten out tonight, did I?  And Claus actually seems aroused by my bramble down there.  Okay, then.

Oh, **_God._**   The German shoves his face against me, and now his tongue is doing its level best to burrow deep into my folds of skin.  I shout out something wordless and began to pant, very, very heavily.  I close my eyes, shift all my weight onto my left arm, so my right hand is freed up to gratefully clutch Claus’ hair.

And before I know it, the German is eating me, eating me with lustful abandon.  Its like he can’t control himself.  He laps at me hungrily, and soon my orgasm is building, building quickly.  I begin to talk to him, half in German, half in English, all of it sex nonsense.  I let any word in my mind escape to my lips.  I may promise marriage or to beat him or tell him how filthy he is, I just don’t know.  The world is fading out as I get closer… and closer… **_and closer…!_**

Oh!  Oh, there!  Right there!

“Right fucking there!” I shout, pushing my hips at Claus as hard as I can.  “Right there, oh, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop…!”

I’m cumming.  I thought I had longer before my body was ready, but now we’re all systems go, and I’m cumming like I can’t believe.  I thrash my head around and the spasms of my joy override basic muscle controls.  My toes extend as far as they can, and I’m heaving for breath like a racehorse crossing the finish line.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…  Oh, this feels… **_sooooooo… gooooooooood…!!!_**

How did I let over a year pass before I felt this again?

******

I am lying back on the bed, exhausted.  Claus has climbed on next to me, and somehow we are balancing on the tiny mattress.  His lips are still stained with my joy juice.  I must have squirted like a mother.

I am completely naked, and my body tingles.  Oh, so nice.

Claus hasn’t even removed his shoes, but you know what?  I don’t care.  I’m just had The 1995 Orgasm of the Year, and I don’t care if the whole city of Hamburg sees me naked now.  I’m that flush with sex right now.

I realize the German is studying my face, smiling slightly.

“You are worth every American penny, Kim,” he tells me.

Oh, right.  I’m playing Kim the Prostitute.

“I’ll bill you,” I say.  “You got a handkerchief?”

We wipe off his mouth, then kiss deeply some more.  I’m about to reach into his pants when there’s a loud banging on the door.

“Ah,” Claus says, a little sadly.  “Our hour is up.”

“But…” I say, “we haven’t fucked.  Don’t you want…?”

“Its okay,” the German smiles.  “I got exactly what I wanted.”

******

We walk back to the hotel, holding hands, smiling and not talking.  Claus and I kiss for the last time in the lobby, and then he is gone, into the elevators.

I grin wickedly to myself.  You know, someday, decades into the future, I’ll look back on this day with pride and satisfaction.  I met and seduced a handsome stranger in a foreign bar, and I got my vagina tongue-cleaned for my efforts.  I should write a novel about this.

I take another elevator back up to the floors where my peers are still laboring away at the Kronshagen Program.  In my own room, I find Latoya and the evil Miss Kim Kesselring, furiously working together on their last paper.  Poor girls.  Their submission deadline is in an hour.  I don’t know where my other roommate Emily is.

Making an obnoxious show of it, I flop onto my bed and starting flipping through an old issue of Cosmopolitan.  It sounds like Latoya and Kim are just hammering out their citations, which is the last step.

“Looks good,” Kim says, peering into Latoya’s laptop.  Her voice is thick with stress.  “Okay, let’s send it.”

Latoya clicks around a little more, and then both girls visibly relax.  Another paper done.

No-one says anything for a minute.

Finally Latoya stands, looking uncomfortable.  “I gotta pee,” she announces to no-one in particular, then vanishes into the bathroom.

I gaily flip through Cosmo, absently humming to myself.

“You’re in a good mood,” Kim observes.  For once, I ignore her.  Feels good.

“Hey,” Kim says suddenly, sharply.  She flies to my bed like a hawk.  “Hey,” she says again, faster this time, “you’ve had **_sex_** , haven’t you?”

I make a point of not looking up.  “Maybe,” I reply carelessly.

I can tell Kim’s mind is blown.  “ ** _Where?_** ” she demands, almost indignant.

Now I make eye contact with my nemesis.  Kim is thinner than usual, with big bags under her eyes.  She’s been working too hard, on too little sleep.  The Harvard Diet.

What’s more, **_she hasn’t had any sex on this trip!_**   I can see that now.  Oh, it must **_kill_** her, to have her bubble-butt boyfriend here with her, and not be able to snag a spare room anywhere!  I’d feel sorry for her, if…

…if, you know, I didn’t **_hate her_** with a seething, Ahab-like passion.

“Oh,” I say lazily, loving the torment, “you don’t want to know.”

“You found a janitor’s broom closet,” guesses Kim, her eyes a little wide.  “No – you have your own room?  You have some money, and you rented your own room here at the hotel?”

She’s not thinking clearly.

Suddenly, I see a way, a wonderfully poetic way, to pay the rotten slut back for everything she’s done to me.  Oh, its so simple, its brilliant.  I totally deserve to go to Harvard, I’m an evil genius.

I sigh, pretending to weigh if I should let Kimmie in on a dirty little secret.  “I **_really_** shouldn’t tell you…” I drawl.

Kim hangs on my every word.

“The Red Light District,” I whisper conspiratorially.  “You rent rooms by the hour.  Twenty marks for a quickie.”

“The Red Light?” Kim repeats, in awe of me.

“Ohhh yeah,” I say with satisfaction, diving back into Cosmo.

“But… the orientation people said-“

“Yeah, **_of course_** they did,” I interrupt contemptuously.  “They see us as children.  Honestly, Times Square is way more dangerous than the Red Light.”

“Get out…!” Kim exclaims.  I can hear the wheels turning in her head.

Now to twist the knife.  “Hey,” I say at the lowest possible volume.  “You want a tip?  Go to the Decadent Oyster.”  I repeat the German pronunciation a few times for Kim to memorize.  “Ask for Dieter.  He knows the score.”

“Okay…” Kim says, and I can tell she’s already planning ahead.

I smirk.  Oh, this is **_perfect_**.  Kim will seek out Dieter, who will hypnotize her into flashing her tits on the street.  Kim, who is waaaay more uptight than I am, will be humiliated, and fly back to the hotel in disgrace.  And all I’ll have to do is say something innocent-sounding like, “What?  I didn’t know **_that_** would happen!”

Why, if I **_really_** feel like being a bitch, maybe I’ll buy a disposable camera, stalk her there, and then photograph the moment when she goes topless.  Then, for the rest of my life, whenever I’m feeling blue, I can pull out my photograph of a booby hypnotized Kim and think back to my little triumph today.

Naw.

Kim puts a hand on my arm.  “Thanks,” she says carelessly.  And then she’s gone, hurrying past the surprised Latoya emerging from the bathroom.

My smirk grows wiser.  I decide to take the Cosmo Sex Quiz:  “What Kind of Sexy Are You:  Drab, Dainty, or Daring?”

Daring!  Duh.

******

The next day is our last in Hamburg.  Tonight, at 8:17 PM, our flight takes off for New York.  I’m so ready to go home.

The program coordinators arrange for a fun trip into the city, but no-one’s in the mood for a museum.  We’re exhausted.  Emily, Latoya, and I lie around in our hotel room watching German TV all day.

******

And then its time to be off.  The entire Harvard entourage gathers in the lobby, a mess of luggage and coats and frayed tempers.

I’m arguing with Latoya when I spot Drake on the other side of the lobby.  He looks frantic.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask Drake as he passes by.

“ ** _Omigod,_** Toni!” the boy gasps, actually clutching my arm.  “Have you seen Kim?”

My blood runs cold.  “…no,” I say carefully.  “What’s going on?”

Drake looks conflicted.

“Spit it out,” I snap.

Drake tells me.  Yes, he and Kim snuck away to the Red Light District last night.  They made it there, but then…

“What?” I demand, almost shaking Drake by the arms.

“I don’t know!” he half-wails.  “I…  I know it sound fucking ridiculous, but…  I can’t remember.  I just can’t remember anything!  There’s this gap in my mind from after we got there.  I don’t even remember how I got back to the hotel last night.”

“Well, did you go back there and **_look_** for her?” I say incredulously.  I have a sinking feeling I know how this story ends.

“No, I…” Drake’s face twists with confusion.  “I can’t explain it, I just…  All day long, it was like I was **_convinced_** that Kim was safe in her room.  That I had nothing to worry about.  Only now, I went to find her, and…”

“And now you feel like you’ve come out of a trance or something,” I finish.

“Yeah,” Drake agrees.  “Yeah, kinda like that.”  He looks at me sideways.  “Do you know something?”

******

I leave Drake with **_strict instructions_** to not let the tour bus leave for the airport until I return with Kim.  Ignoring his questions, I leave my luggage with Latoya, and then hurry from the hotel.  I have maybe forty minutes before the bus leaves, two and a half hours before our flight takes off.

Clutching my purse, I almost run all the way to the Red Light District.  Now I’m cursing myself for my cruel little prank, my sick need to debase poor Kim, who… well, I don’t want to think what might have happened to her.  I don’t know why, but I have this awful feeling that the girl’s in **_real danger_**.

The sun is setting, and the neon is coming alive as I approach the Decadent Oyster.  The tourists are thicker than before, and I suppose that so many people in a public place is a good thing.  My heart is pounding.

I look wildly about.  No Dieter.  No slimy guy who rented the hotel room to Claus.  Just hundreds of gawking visitors, and the nude dancers, and-

Wait.  Oh my God, **_there she is._**

Kim is in the window of the Decadent Oyster, wearing only a thin gold chain about her waist, another around her throat.  She dances as if under a spell, her face sleepy.  She doesn’t seem to be aware of the men gathered before her, gazing lustfully at her naked body.

Oh God.

Desperate, I push my way through the spectators, and pound on the glass.  “ ** _Kim!_** ” I scream.  “ ** _Kim!  Wake up!  Fucking wake up!!!_** ”

The glass is thick, and Kim doesn’t hear me.  At one point, her unfocused eyes wash over my face, but she doesn’t acknowledge me in any way.

The men start yelling at me, annoyed that I’m trying to break up their peep show.

 ** _Fuck!_**   This is awful.  This is just **_fucking horrible._**   I’m **_such_** a bad person.

I push my way into the Decadent Oyster, ignoring the protests of the doorman.  Inside, it is so poorly lit, I almost have to grope my way with my hands.  The place is packed with middle-aged men, smoking and drinking and calling out to the blank-faced nude women dancing on the raised poles.  I smell stale beer… and worse.

Oh fuck me, are all these women hypnotized???  What kind of sick slave market have I stumbled into here?!?

More to the fucking point…  **_Where is Kim???_**

I pivot around, trying to figure out where her window would be.

There she is.  I can see her dancing, curvy body silhouetted against the glass.  She’s standing on a mini-stage, facing out into the street.  Behind her, men are clustered about, pointing to and admiring her butt.

Fighting tears, I shove them aside, clawing my way up onto the stage.

“ ** _Kim!_** ” I shout, grabbing my sister and shaking her.  “ ** _Kim, snap out of it!_**   **_KIM!!!_** ”

The men bellow with indignation.

“ ** _KIM!!!_** ” I screech, positively desperate.

The bus leaves in twenty minutes.

Kim looks at me, actually making eye contact.  Her brow wrinkles, slightly.

“ ** _Kim, you’re hypnotized!_** ” I yell.  “ ** _Wake up!_** ”  I snap my fingers; that always works in the movies.

My sister takes a step back, still not recognizing me.  “ ** _Herr Dieter!_** ” she shouts.  “ ** _Herr Dieter!!!_** ”

I try again.  “Kim, listen to me,” I say firmly.  “You’re **_Kim Kesselring_** , you’re in a hypnotic trance, you have to-“

I feel a firm hand on my shoulder.

Oh no.

I am forcibly spun around, and now I am staring back into the black eyes of Dieter.  This time, the skinny little dude does not look jolly.

“Ah, so you come back to dance, yah?” he asks, over the pounding music.

“ ** _Fuck you!_** ” I screech.  “You are in **_SO_** much trouble-“

“Yah, I think not,” Dieter tells me.  He passes a hand over my face.  “You will **_sleep…!_** ”

My arms and legs and eyes suddenly want to… want to give up all energy.  I feel this incredible urge to surrender, to let go.

 ** _No!_** I think as firmly as I can.  _I have to stay awake, I can’t be-_

“You will…” Dieter repeats, his eyes boring into mine, “ ** _sleep…!_** ”

My hands drop limply to my sides and I feel myself teeter on my feet.  My thoughts are fading.  Why am I standing?  I should close my eyes and let Dieter’s voice fill my mind with thoughts and suggestions and commands and…

 _…no…!_ a dim voice in the back of my mind cries out again.

“… ** _Sleep!_** ” Dieter orders me.

This time, I can’t resist him.

******


	4. The Decadent Oyster

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves women becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

 

“And now,” I hear, “you will open your eyes, yah.”

I do as I am bid.  As light strikes my pupils, I blink a few times.

Where am I?  I’m not sure… and I don’t really care.  I feel peaceful, tranquil.  My thoughts are blurry, almost tranquilized.  My body is relaxed, and feels wonderful.

Dieter is standing before me, scrutinizing me with both of this palms pressed together before his face, as if in prayer.

“Good, good,” he mumbles to himself.

I remember where I am.  I’m in the back office of the Decadent Oyster.  After Dieter put my mind to sleep, I allowed him to lead me here.  Shortly after that, I removed all my clothes.

“And now, _Fräulein_ ,” Dieter tells me, “you are a dancer here at my club.  The best, sexiest dancer in all of the world.  You will go out there and entertain the men, making them horny with your body.  You will refuse to let them touch you, but do everything else they command you to do.”

The club owner claps his hands once, and suddenly, I realize:  I’m a dancer here!  Of course, I’m a stripper, the hottest, most sought-after stripper in all of Hamburg!  A smug smile appears on my face.

I exit the office, boldly striding into the main floor of the club.  Here, the lights are dark and the music thunders like it wants to oppress us.  I pass men who leer at my nudity.  I smirk back at one or two of them as I pass.

The main stage here at Decadent Oyster is really a raised platform that cuts through the center of the main room.  I vault up there now, confidently claiming one of the silver poles as my own.  Although I’m not sure I’ve ever done this before, I grip a pole with my hands and swing about is a full, three-hundred-sixty degree circle.

The customers whoop and cheer, so I do it again.  This time, I raise and part my legs, so they can see my vagina and anus as I swing around.  This produces an even bigger reaction.

Good.  I smile to myself.  As the hottest dancer in all of Europe, I’m used to teasing men with my body like this.  But I’ll never tire of the seduction.

Now I plant my feet, point my ass at a burly fellow below, and swing my tush back and forth in time to the music.  The customers begin to clap along.

******

I’ve been dancing for, what, hours now?  I have no idea.

The bizarre thing is… I feel like I’m dreaming.  Like all of this, the Decadent Oyster, the customers, the other dancers, everything, is just an elaborate dream.  And any minute, I’ll wake in my bed back home and shake my head that I thought I was a stripper.

But I **_am_** a stripper.  I’m sure of it.

At the club, we dancers rotate about the stages constantly.  Sometimes I am on the main stage, sometimes performing in the upstairs rooms, sometimes dancing in the windows which can be seen out on the street.  Its all the same to me.

******

Still later, in the evening, I’m back on the main stage.  I toss my head in another dance move, and I realize I know the dancer on the pole next to me.

Its Kim, Kim Kesselring.  She’s nude and sweaty, like me, and God, is she **_hot_**.

Kim and I exchange a glance, but neither of us say anything.  We’re pros; pros don’t talk while performing.

But a man in a great bushy beard right up against the stage suddenly points to me.  “Hey, you both are Americans, no?” he shouts.  “Dance together, Americans!”

My mind goes blank for a second.  Suddenly I have to dance with Kim.  I **_have_** to.

Kim has already turned to face me.  We dance together, which really means we stand in place and shake our hips and shoulders while facing each other.  Its not really dancing together, but its all we know how to do.

“No, no!” bellows the bearded man.  “Is not sexy!  Make sexy!”

Again my thoughts wink out, and I am compelled to obey.  I move against Kim’s body, gingerly placing my hands on her curvy hips.  Our hips swivel close to one another.

I look up at Kim.  Her face is close to mine, her eyelids are heavy, and her mouth slightly open.  She has a vaguely drugged expression.  I’m sure I have one too.  We dance, and our bodies start moving closer and closer.

“Yes, is better!” Bearded One yells, pleased.  “Now kiss!”

I don’t know if I kiss Kim or she kisses me, but in a heartbeat, our lips are pressing against each other.  I taste her mouth, and I actually swoon a little.  Kim is a very sexy kisser.

The nearby customers cheer.  “Yes, yes!” they cry.

“Now do more!” another man shouts.  “Touches boobies!  Touches boobies!”

Kim slides her delicate hands up my back, around my sides, and rests them on my tiny little apples.  Her kisses grow deeper and stronger, and I think she wants me.

At the same time, I discover my own hands have planted themselves on her swollen boobs.  Wow, Kim’s breasts are squishy and heavy, even if her nipples feel hard and stone-like now.  How does Kim walk about with these monsters on her chest all day?

I sigh a little as Kim’s tongue reaches into my mouth, and I realize my caresses are exciting her.

The men start yelling out more demands.  Kim and I grope and kiss one another without a care.  Suddenly our hands and lips are everywhere.  I feel Kim’s skilled fingers on my butt, inside my thigh, over my abs, on my neck, across my shoulderblades, everywhere.  Her soft kisses on my neck are especially erotic, and I cry out in pleasure as she nibbles me there.

Still our customers want more.  “Eat pussy!” they roar.  “Eat pussy!”

Kim and l lock gazes.  I want her.  She wants me.  But only one of us can give, the other receive.  Whom will-

“Get on the floor,” Kim orders me, her voice raw.

Its like we’re back on the Wendell Hallow squad all over again.

I obey my captain, crouching down, and then reclining onto my back.  I root my feet onto the stage, getting into bridge pose, which lifts my hips as high up as they can go.

Meanwhile, Kim kneels, inserting herself between my legs.  I watch, trembling, and she bends forward to touch her tongue to my quivering vagina.  Our eyes once again lock.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, I receive oral in the Red Light District, although I strangely can’t remember Claus at the moment.  Kim and I stare at one another as she licks me once, slowly.  I gasp.

Another, slow lick.  Kim wraps her arms under my legs, helping to support the weight of my hips.  This also pulls her in closer to her target.  She starts caressing me continuously, her lips and tongue a machine of constant, erotic motion.  Kim’s like an erotic cat, lapping my milk-dish vagina.

I press my arms down into the cold stage.  The orgasm is starting deep inside me.  Ohhh man…!

The men have fallen silent, watching us in transfixed awe.

Each time Kim licks me, she does this thing with her spine so that a little wave traverses her body, from her butt up to her lips.  It means her head bobs up and down a little more than usual, and man, it is **_effective_**.  That little extra motion is really…  ohhh…  wow…!  Has Kim done this before?

My blonde partner slowly closes her eyes, and throws all her concentration into pleasuring me.  Now her head moves back and forth, working one side of my pussy at a time.  I wail and shriek with delight.  I thought my pussy was completely symmetrical!  But Kim treats one side, then the other, back and forth, and it… Is!  **_Driving!  Me!!! WILD!!!_**

I’m sweating like a pig, my whole body tense and trembling.  Kim is slowly teasing out my orgasm, and Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God, it is a whopper!  When I cum, I’ll be lucky… if…  Oh God…

My vision blurs as my eyes unfocus.  I’m clay in Kim’s hands, and I’ll do anything she wants now.  All I can do is hang on and hope my sister doesn’t overstimulate me…

Suddenly, Kim sucks, hard.  She pulls as much of my vagina skin she can into her mouth, and then lightly – ever so lightly – bites it.  Oh, she doesn’t hurt me at all, just applies a little hard pressure on **_exactly_** the right spot.

And… **_that’s it._**

I burst with orgasm, a rush of wonderful color and sensation rippling through my body.  My voice rises, both in pitch and volume.  I feel my hips and pelvis buckle and shake, and I know I’m gushing into poor Kim’s face.  I can’t help it.

The feeling is so intense, so overpowering, my brain shuts down all thinking.  I’m aware of flailing in delight, of sheer bliss flowing over all corners of me.  I shudder to think what words I might have been babbling.

Kim withdraws her face, but inserts two expert fingers into me.  She strokes, all the while gently kissing around my pelvis.  My orgasm shifts in texture, and now I feel like I’m bathed in warm, delicious chocolate.  I know it makes no sense, but my every muscle is delighted by tastes and sensations that ripple through me.  I let out of long, excited moan as my eyes close.

Kim strokes and kisses me, carefully monitoring by reactions.

As I start to lose strength, she decreases her stimulation.  I’m so grateful for her skill.

Soon, I’m spent, lying on the stage, completely limp.  I have only the vaguest idea of where I am, who am I, what has happened to me.  All I know is that my body is still popping with post-clitoral sparkles of delight.  I’m covered with beaded sweat.  I’m breathing in huge, desperate gasps.

Kim lies on top of me, hugging my nude body to hers.  She kisses my face, stroking my hair.  She smells like raw sex.

As my senses return, I realize; every customer in the club is **_silent_** , staring at Kim and me.  The throbbing music is the only sound in the air.

“That was wonderful,” my blonde partner murmurs, in a voice that only I can hear.

I smile.  I may be a pro dancer, but I feel such love for this goddess now.  I kiss her, a small kiss just on her lips.

“What is this???” I hear a male voice from the back of the club.

Dieter has emerged from the back office, spooked by the sudden loss of male voices.  He sees Kim and me on the main stage, and realizes at once what has happened.  In seconds, he has climbed up and looms over both of us.

“You two,” he fumes.

Then he issues his hypnotic commands, and I tumble back into enchanted sleep.

******

I sleep, floating in a voidless dream.  From some distant place, I hear Dieter’s voice commanding me, but I don’t think about what I am doing.  I simply obey.

And then…

Then I’m aware…

My eye open.  I squint.

Where the fuck am I?

Oh shit.  I’m in the back office of the Decadent Oyster.  I’m sitting on a velvet couch, which is surprisingly comfortable.

There’s a person next to me, actually leaning against me.  I crane my neck a little and see blonde hair.  Kim!

As I rouse, Kim also begins to awaken.  We sit up, collecting our wits.

I’m dressed in a black thong which rides up my hips and between my butt cheeks in an uncomfortable way.  Otherwise, I’m naked.  As I move my arms and legs, I realize: there are shackles around my wrists and ankles!  I’m chained!

I yank with one arm, and confirm, yes, I’m shackled to this bench, as comfy as it might be.  Oh shit…!

I swallow, panic starting to fill me.  What the hell am I going to do?

Kim, who is wearing the exact same things I am, has also realized the worst.  She looks at me, terror in her eyes.  “Oh shit, Toni,” she whispers.  “You’re wearing a slave collar.”

I touch my neck and confirm this for myself.  Its thick, made of leather, and has a big “O” ring right in the front.  “You are too,” I tell her.

“What the fuck are we going to do?” Kim quietly wails, her voice trembling.

I feel sick.  Oh God, I don’t even know what day it is.

By now, we’ve clearly missed the bus and probably our flight back to New York.  Hopefully Drake has alerted our professors to our absence, but what will they do?  Kim and I are legal adults.  If we wander into the Red Light District on our own, well, isn’t that on us?

We’re fucked.

I close my eyes in despair.

**_Fucked._ **

“Ah, my pretties, yah?” a familiar German voice exclaims.

Kim and I glare at Dieter, who has appeared from a side door.  He jeers at us, actually licking his lips as he approaches.

“You better release us, **_immediately,_** ” I hiss.  While I feel powerless, I hope I come across as scary.

“ _Nein,_ ” Dieter coos, his sick little pencil moustache twitching.  “You two American beauties are making too much monies, yah.  And you love being dominated.  Is good for business, too.”

“ ** _DOMINATED?!?_** ” I shout.  Despite my fear, I try to lunge at our hideous master.  The clink of my chains remind me how powerless I am.  “ ** _Fuck you, dominated!_** ”

“But both of you went into the hypnosis so quickly, so deeply, yah?” Dieter asks us.  “Your minds are fertile, but your subconscious are easy to manipulate.  You must live a life of high stress, yah?  That is why you are mine.”

I hear Kim whimper beside me.  Hey, I can’t blame her.  I’m absolutely terrified myself.

“Yah, dominated,” Dieter repeats, but he’s not really threatening us.  “Dominated.”

Despite my haze of fear, I think I realize something.  Dieter is making a show about throwing Kim and me into slavery, sure, but…  But there’s something else going on here.  He wants something from us.  Something he can’t hypnotize from us.

I scan about the room, noting a display of sex toys on the far wall.

Time to play a hunch.

Sounding a lot braver than I feel, I say, “ ** _Hey._** ”

Dieter looks at me, hopefully.

“That whip,” I intone.  “Bring it to me.”

The German man smiles, just slightly.  Walking slowly, he moves to the display, carefully picking up a black leather riding crop.

Then, pointing the torture stick straight at my face, he moves toward me with determination.

“Oh God…!” Kim mutters, horrified.

It takes all the bravery I have not to look away, not to scream for help or forgiveness.  Soon the crop is inches from my nose.

Staring straight up into Dieter’s lean face, I command, “ ** _Give it to me._** ”

Dieter smiles again, that faint, sick little smile.  And he twists his hand, now offering me the crop’s handle.

Suddenly, I understand everything.  My fear dissolves.

I reach up, grasp the whip, and swish it once in the air, just for show.  So far, so good.

Now…

I close my eyes.  _The chains are not real,_ I tell myself.

And then I stand, stepping away from the couch.  Nothing stops me.

When I open my eyes, Kim is goggling at me in disbelief.  “How did you…” she asks helplessly.

I totally get it now.  “There never were chains,” I tell her.  “We were **_hypnotized_** to believe the chains were there.  Get up, there’s nothing holding you down.”

Kim hesitates, then stands.  As she does, her chains vanish before my eyes.

I turn to Dieter, and now it is **_me_** who is pointing the crop at **_his_** head.  “Now, buster,” I growl, “we’ll see who it is who will be dominated.”

Delighted, the German man manages a meek, “Yes, Mistress.”

“Turn around,” I bark.  “Bend over.”

Dieter obeys me.  He is barely containing his glee.

I raise the crop, then smack it over his bottom, once.  **_Hard_**.

“Ohhhh…!” the club owner moans, in ecstasy.

I relax.

Oh my God.  I think I’m gonna throw up.

I glance at Kim.  “You okay?”

She nods.  Her face is still pale, but I see she’s regaining her composure.

“Relax,” I tell her.  “He’s powerless now.  He can never hypnotize us again.”

Dieter, still bowing away from us, is craning his neck around.

“ ** _Hey!_** ” I bark.  “Who gave you permission to look at me?”

I smack him twice.  Once across each butt cheek.

The German grunts, but lowers his head.  He mumbles something.

“ ** _What?_** ” I glower.  “ ** _What_** was that?”

More mumbling.

“ ** _Speak up!_** ”

“Please, Mistress…” he says meekly, “may I have another?”

“You want another, you sick fuck?” I bellow, and I’m not really play-acting this time.

This time, **_three_** swats!  One for each cheek, and the third **_right in the crack_**.  I smile grimly when the pervert yelps in pain.

******

Dieter clearly thought I would march him into the bedroom and beat the living shit out of him.  Or something.  But I have other ideas.

“Get us clothes, worm!” I snarl.  “And where are our purses?”

“But… but Mistress,” the German protests, “are you not going to give your loyal Dieter the pleasure he-“

“ ** _SILENCE!_** ” I roar, slashing the air with the crop.  “Bring me clothes, or I’ll smack something of **_yours_** you **_don’t_** want to get hurt!”

Dieter scampers away.  He really is pathetic.

Within fifteen minutes, Kim and I are dressed in black turtlenecks, black pants, black socks, and men’s shoes which do not fit.  I’m angry, and want to know what happened to **_my_** clothes, but my cringing man-slave won’t say.  Which probably means they’re lost forever.

Whatever.  At least our purses are still here.

I next command Dieter to fetch his car.  He grovels and complains, but I take no shit from him.  “ ** _Get the fucking car,_** ” I sneer, and literally beat his ass until he complies.

******

And now, Dieter, Kim, and I are standing before the Lufthansa ticketing desk at Hamburg Airport.  We make a bizarre trio, all in the same black outfit, and me clutching that riding crop.  I can tell airport security is wary of me, but I ain’t letting this stick go just yet.

“So,” the ticketing lady says uncertainly, looking between the three of us, “zhat is two tickets to New York, yah, leaving at exactly five und sixteen minutes, _ja_?”

I poke Dieter in the ribs.

“ _Ja,_ ” the club owner says dejectedly.

The woman begins to work her computer.

I poke Dieter again, harder this time.  He looks at me, his expression a sick mixture of submission and anger.

“ ** _First class, bitch!!!_** ” I bellow at him.

“Ah, _Fräulein_ …” Dieter interrupts the ticket agent.  “Can we upgrade…?”

******

After Kim and I display our passports, I force Dieter to pay, and then the tickets are ours.

“Let’s run for it,” Kim urgently whispers to me.

I hesitate.  Dieter can’t put us under his spell anymore, so I don’t see any danger.  But at the same time…

“Look,” I growl at our former master.  “You’d better de-hypnotize all those other women.  Or so help me, I **_will_** fucking come back and I **_will_** put a boot squarely up your ass.  You hear me?”

Dieter’s mouth twists.  He wrestles with something deep, deep within him, but manages a curt, “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good,” I can’t resist saying.

I turn to leave.

“Wait!” Dieter says, and he’s using his commanding hypnosis voice now.

Although he has no power over us anymore, Kim and I freeze.

“Perhaps…” Dieter says, pleading, “I could have… another?”  He half-turns, pointing his butt in our general direction.

I purse my lips.  I know airport security is watching me like hawks.  If I swat the pervert even once…

Instead, I toss the riding crop to the floor.  “Sorry, Deit,” I say as casually as I can.  “Your mistress commands you to go home.  And then shove this up your poophole.  Now run along and be a good little worm, will you?”

******


	5. Epilogue

***DISCLAIMER 1***

This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***

This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, one character is coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***

This work involves women becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***

If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

 

 

 

Kim and I are seated in First Class.  Our plane has just left German airspace, and we are starting to cross over the English Channel.

Neither of us has spoken a word.  I somehow can’t look at my sister’s face.  I’m too ashamed.  Kim, seated at the window, hugs herself tightly.  She tucks her legs up underneath her and stares out into the blackness.  I can’t decipher her expression.

The steward appears, casting withering looks over our ill-fitting black outfits.  “Can I… get you ladies anything?” he asks, not bothering to hide his revulsion.

“No,” I growl.  “Thank you.”

Subtext:  _Go the fuck away, okay???_

Kim gives the man the briefest of weak smiles, not even making eye contact.  The prissy steward gives us one last sour look, then vanishes.

I sigh wearily, rubbing my temple.  I normally love Germany and its people, but this trip has been… well, let’s just say I’ll be happy to be back in America for a good, long time.

At my exhale, Kim turns to look at me.  Her blue eyes are haunted.

I cringe inside.  **_Oh God_**.  I have to tell her.  I have to tell her all of this was my-

“I’m so, **_so_** sorry,” Kim whispers to me, her voice shaking.  She reaches over and places a delicate hand on my forearm.

I stare at her in disbelief.

“You **_have_** to forgive me,” Kim implores, and I see tears in her eyes.  I realize:  She’s serious.

“Me forgive you?” I echo, dumbfounded.

“This whole thing… it was all my fault,” says Kim, on the verge of breaking down.  “If I hadn’t…  I mean, if I had only been patient, and not gone to the Red Light…  None of this-“

“No, no,” I say, alarmed at where this is going.  “Kim…”

Kim waves a dismissive hand.  “If I’d used my head, Drake and I never would have gone, I never would have gotten…”  She can’t bring herself to say _hypnotized_.  “And then, you risked everything to save me… and look what happened!”

As she fights her emotions, Kim’s voice is rising.  “You became a **_slave_** … because of me…  If you hadn’t…”

She can’t go on.  I watch in horror as my blonde sister bites her lip and squeezes her eyes shut.  The tears flow.  Her shoulders tremble as sobs wrack her body.  Kim pitifully grasps my arm, as if she’s afraid I’ll float away or something.  “Its all my fault,” she blubbers, over and over.

I feel **_awful_**.  A big, black pit of shame has opened in my stomach, and I find that my mouth is dry as a bone.  I want to leap out of the plane rather than endure this a moment longer.

“Kim,” I interject in a sharp tone, “Kim!  This **_so_** isn’t your fault!”

“No, no, no…!” Kim weeps, not getting it.

I can’t stand this.  “ ** _Listen to me,_** ” I say, seizing her hands.  “Its my fault, okay?  I did this to you.  I wanted to…”

Kim looks at me through red, swollen eyes.  Her lower lips quavers.  Her forehead wrinkles in puzzlement.

Oh, God.

I take a deep breath.  “I… knew Dieter was there, at the Decadent Oyster.  I knew he could hypnotize you.”  I tell her about how I first fell under the club owner’s sway.  “But I thought he’d just make you show off your boobs, that’s all!” I exclaim, waving my hands in a helpless gesture.  “I didn’t think he’d…”

Kim’s face is tense, and I can’t tell if she’s angry.  My own heart is beating like crazy.

“I thought you’d be embarrassed,” I mumble, suddenly staring at my shoes.  “I wanted to…”

“Do what?” Kim asks.

I flick a fearful glance at my sister.

She isn’t mad!  No, to my amazement, Kim is looking at me with an expression of confusion… nothing more.

“I wanted to get even!” I blurt out.

“Wait, what?” Kim asks, sitting up and brushing away her tears.  “Get even?  Whatever for?”

 ** _Whatever for?!?_**   I think my head just exploded.

“Are you freakin’ serious?” I rage at Kim.  “ ** _Whatever for???_** For ** _EVERYTHING!!!_** For stealing Drake!  For making me look so bad in class all the time!”

Now emotions are pouring from me at a breakneck clip.  I am out of control, letting words fly without any consideration to what I am saying.  I’m just letting loose.  Five years of pent-up hostility gushes forward!

“For getting into to Harvard, when that was **_my school!_** ” I cry, my voice growing shrill.  “For stealing the Wendell Hallow squad captaincy!  For upstaging me when we made up the cheering routines!  **_For stealing everything I’ve ever wanted in my whole fucking life!!!_** ”

I fling out these last, hateful words, and then can’t look at Kim.  To my shame, I’m now the one crying.

I angrily clamp a hand over my eyes, sobbing, and cursing myself for coming so undone before the one person on this Earth to whom I never want to show such disgusting weakness.

Dimly, I hear Kim say, “Toni…”

“Shut up!” I demand, crying harder.

Aw fuck, why’d I have to meltdown now???  In front of **_her???_**

My life is over.

I feel Kim’s hand on my sleeve again.  “Toni,” she says firmly.  “Look at me, girl.”

I set my jaw.  “No!” I say stubbornly.

What am I, five years old?

“Toni,” repeats Kim.  Her voice is soft.

I gasp, humiliated at how my cheeks are sopping wet now.  Fighting anger, I wipe my face, cross my arms furiously, then look at Kim.  It takes effort.

Kim’s own tear-stained face is lined with concern.  “How can you **_feel_** that way?” she asks, hurt.

No point in sugar-coating anything now.  “You’ve always been such a bitch to me,” I accuse.  “Always.”

Any other girl would take these words as a mortal insult.  I might as well slapped Kim across the face with a leather glove, then demanded we duel with pistols at sundown.

But to my amazement, Kim shakes her head.  “Me be a bitch to you?” she repeats.  “Oh, Toni…”

“Its **_true_** ,” I insist.

There’s a pause.

Kim looks down at her fingers.  She delates a little.  “Yeah,” she admits.  “Its true.”

 ** _And there it is._**   There, in those three little words, is the validation for all the hatred I’ve carried for Kim Kesselring all these years.  **_Right there._**

I should be vindicated.

Instead, I don’t know what to feel.

Kim sighs mightily.  “I know it,” she confesses.  “Its just that…  I’ve always been so jealous of you.”

My mouth drops open.

In the History of Time, no girl has ever honestly said to another, _I’m always been so jealous of you._   That simply has never happened.  Ever.  When girls feel jealousy for one another, we carry those bitter feelings to our grave.  We never, ever, ever, **_ever, EVER_** say it aloud.

Kim is throwing herself on her sword before me.  I’m amazed.

But more than that… I’m stunned.  “ ** _You’re_** jealous of **_me?_** ” I say stupidly.  “But… why?”

“Why?” snaps Kim, annoyed.  “Why?  You’re the great Toni **_Fucking_** Lamarco, that’s why!  **_You’re_** the Wonder of Harvard Pre-Biz!  **_You’re_** the girl who landed the world’s first Triple Axel, Fully Rotated Basket Toss in competition, for fuck’s sake.”

Kim glares at me.  “Do you know that there are exactly **_two women_** alive with a high-performance stunt named after them?  **_Beverly Tucker_** and **_Toni Lamarco_** , that’s it.  Yes, that’s right.  I looked it up.”

“Someday,” glowers Kim, “my daughters will come home from cheering practice and they’ll tell me, ‘ _Mom, this year, I’m going for a Toni Lamarco.’_   And do you know what I’ll have to say to them?”  She shakes her head.  “I’ll say, _‘Yes, honey, I knew Toni Lamarco when she did that for the first time.’_ ”

Feeling foolish, I manage, “Yeah… but I just did a Triple Axel.  They’ve since done Quadruple-“

“Quadruple, Quintuple, Sextuple, whatever,” my blonde sister huffs.  “They’re all called _Toni Lamarco’s_ now.  They always will be.  Who cares that I made squad captain for one lousy year?  No-one is ever gonna remember me.”

“And **_you,_** ” Kim goes on, stabbing an accusing finger at my face.  “You were the girl with no money and no background and **_still_** clawed her way into Harvard Pre-Biz.  I squeaked in on legacy.  You think anyone at home is impressed with me when they look at you?”  She snorts.

“And you,” she adds quietly.  “You dove into the Red Light District to save a foolish girl who **_should_** have been a better friend all these years.  You’re a hero.  I’m…”

Kim turns her head away.  “I don’t deserve to know you,” she finishes quietly.

I sit in my chair, thunderstruck.

Kim hugs herself again, falling silent.

I could let this be the end.  Finally, after all this time, I’ve finally bested Kim Kesselring.  I’m the alpha now.  I could…

No.

I can’t.

“Hey,” I say softly, poking Kim as gently as I can.

She doesn’t budge, but I can tell Kim is listening to me closely.

“You know,” I offer, “technically… I was a bitch to you first.”

Kim looks at me.

“I tried to block you from getting on the Wendell Hallow squad,” I confess.

“Oh, no no,” Kim retorts.  “I spent that summer getting to know Audrey and all the other girls, making sure they liked me **_before_** I auditioned.  I was in before you even met me.”

I’m… a little shocked.  “You little minx!” I exclaim.

Kim shrugs.  “You guys were the Wendell Hallow Varsity Squad,” she explains, hands in the air.  “You think I was gonna take any chances?”

“You’re diabolical,” I declare, shaking my head.

“I’m determined,” argues Kim.  She raises her head in pride.

In her ill-fitting black turtleneck, with her tear-stained red eyes and shining cheeks, she looks ridiculous.  I laugh at her, a little.

Kim smiles.  She takes my hand.  And then rests her head on my shoulder.  I lean against her, too.

And the two of us sail away through the night sky, heading for home and freedom.

******


End file.
